Chapter Five: NootauSorrowful Birdsong

"Where's the box?" Nootau asked again, pushing forward through the pain. Gods, his ass had never hurt this much in his life. Not even when he went jumping into the limestone quarries in Illinois.

Waban turned his head and waved his hand to the left. "On the chair, over there."

It took a great deal of effort, but Nootau limped over to an extra chair pushed up against the kitchen wall. His clothes were on the seat, laundered and folded, though they looked a little worse for wear. The box sat on top of them.

Nootau picked his shitty crap up and sat down. The movements took too much effort. Then again, he'd transformed and taken several bullets. The memories were coming back slowly, and with some effort, but it'd take time. Even then he might not remember it all. Time was something he didn't have anyway. Nootau needed to keep moving. Unfortunately his energy reserves were shot. Ha. Nootau needed sustenance.

"Do you have anything to eat?"

Waban grunted. "There is soup on the stove."

"Thank you." But he didn't have the energy to get up. Or try and get his clothes on. The idea of lifting his legs held no appeal. Nootau let his head rest against the wall and he closed his eyes. "I'll help myself in a few minutes."

"Your stubbornness is the only reason you're moving."

"Yes."

"At least pull the chair to the table," Waban said, quickly followed by the sounds of movement—his feet shuffling against the floor, a lid being lifted up, and soup being poured into a bowl.

Nootau yawned. Gods, he was bone weary. He could sleep for days and still probably feel tired.

"It was a close call this time, Nootau."

A thud came from the bowl being placed on the table.

"You were lost in the spirit. Consumed by it."

An arm wrapped around his shoulders. Nootau opened his eyes. Waban's weathered face was above him. A frown marred it. A great sadness seemed to fill the old soulful gaze.

"You should not transform into anything else for a while."

"No, I don't think I should."

"I have always prayed to the Gods for you to learn control for your sake. To be able to balance the spirits within yourself."

That'd be nice. Even Nootau had things he liked about his human spirit—like Waban's soup—sex, and opposable thumbs. Thumbs made the world so much easier.

Nootau allowed the old medicine man to move him to the table, braid his hair back, and shove the soup down his gullet. The rabbit meat had been cooked to perfection. The spices and vegetables brought out the flavor. He groaned in appreciation as he chewed. No one made rabbit stew like Waban.

The lack of conversation between them disturbed Nootau, but he had dropped a bomb on Waban. Not to mention Nootau was busy eating--so good. Hopefully they'd come up with a plan of action and be able to erase the progressively pinched and haggard expression off the old medicine man.

Nootau picked up the bowl and gulped down the remaining broth. Warmth curled around him and he sighed, refreshed. He pushed the empty dish away and smiled at Waban.

"Thank you."

"Let's get these clothes on," Waban said, holding them up.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

"Can't I borrow some pjs and just curl up on your couch—"

"You need to leave, Nootau."

"Don't be like that, Waban," he replied, laughing nervously. "We have to find a way to get Ahanu's evidence out there. Let the tribe know what's going on."

"No."

Nootau didn't hear what he thought he just heard, did he?

"It would be better for all of us if you just left it alone."

Nootau shook his head, utter horror running right through him. How could Waban be okay with what was happening in the camp?

"To protect the many we must sacrifice the few."

The words hit him hard in the gut. The scary part was he looked serious too. Waban was going to turn a blind eye and had every intention of kicking him out. After all the affection he just showered on Nootau. After fixing him up. What if it was Nootau being sold? Or Ahanu? Would he have fought for them? How many times had he and Ahanu hid here, listening to his stories and skipping their chores? Or spent the night practicing their transformations under his guidance? He'd been like a grandfather to the both of them.

"How can you pretend this isn't happening? How?" Nootau asked. "The tribe would support us if you asked."

"I am thinking about the tribe, Nootau. Unlike you," Waban replied, his voice barely loud enough for Nootau to hear. "And if you can't think of the tribe, think about the rest of us. We as skin walkers are already under such scrutiny. The last thing we need is to draw more unfavorable attention to ourselves."

"What if they had taken Ahanu? Sold him?"

Waban huffed.

"Or me?" Which was really what Nootau wanted an answer to. "What if they were after me?"

"My dear, Nootau, they already are."

For a few moments a stunned silence as Nootau stared at Waban. What did that even mean?

"You have little time before the SWG arrives, Nootau." Waban stood and put the bowl in the sink. "Do you think they wouldn't check the reservation for a hurt skin walker?" He scoffed and shook his head. "Your naivety is surprising, Nootau. You need to get dressed and be gone before they arrive. I don't know how much longer I can stall them. Your status endangers us all, and we have already lost so much."

Betrayal cut through Nootau like a hot poker—slow and excruciatingly painful. It burned him from the outside in until it had wrapped around his heart. The ache from Ahanu's death grew bigger inside him.

"You're really kicking me out?" Nootau asked.

"Yes." Waban answered. "I have done what I can for your wounds, but you have endangered us all by coming here—the Algonquin and skinwalkers alike. If you care anything for your tribe I suggest you leave and never come back."

The words were a sucker punch to Nootau's stomach. Nausea roiled inside him. his throat scratchy, raw and dry.

"His soul will find peace when I figure out who's buying walkers and stop it."

"Nootau." The censure in Waban's voice stung.

Despite his energy reserves being depleted, Nootau stood. By the time he had pulled on his worn clothes his breathing was labored and choppy. He needed rest, recuperation, but would get none.

"Are you hoping I'll make it off the reservation before I collapse?"

"Yes."

"What about this?" Nootau placed a hand on the box.

"Probably best if you left it." Waban sighed. He looked so tired but the haze of anger coiling around Nootau made it hard to care. The man who helped raise him, teach him was turning his back in the most unimaginable way. Waban motioned with his hands. "Give it here. I can burn it."

Chapter Five: AsheSugar

Ashe fished out his duffel bag from behind the seat of Dave's truck, and pulled out a black t-shirt, pulling it on. The bag had been his father's from his time in the army, the rough green canvas worn and fraying at the edges. It reminded him why he wanted to get back on the road as soon as possible.

Dave came out of the barn carrying a tool box. "Wanna set her up over there?" He pointed to a concrete slab next to the barn, stained with what looked like motor oil. "That's where I work on my hawg."

"Sure. What kinda bike do you have?"

"It's a Fat Boy, midnight blue with chrome trim. It was my Daddy's."

"Nice." Ashe would take a good German bike over a Harley any day, but he was too polite to tell Dave that.

"So what did it do?"

"What?" Ashe had lost the thread of the conversation.

"Your bike, when it died."

"It sputtered and quit. It's an old bike."

Dave set down his tools and rubbed the dirt off the side of Ashe's bike. "Honda, huh? Never was much for foreign bikes. You have a lot of trouble with her?"

"Sometimes, yeah, but like I said, it's an old bike."

"Give me a couple minutes to look it over. If I can't figure out what's wrong, I can always take you up to Tucson on mine."

Ashe nodded. "I'd appreciate that."

Dave set to work on the bike. He seemed like a decent-enough guy.

Ashe wandered off to the edge of the driveway, looking out over the property. The land was wide open and empty out here. The Sonoran Desert was generally a "wet" desert, lush as far as arid lands went, but you wouldn't have known it from Compton Ranch.

An open meadow on the far side of the barn might once have been a cultivated field. A stand of mesquite trees to the north indicated the presence of a wash, where the rain water was channeled down through the desert land during the monsoons. The sky had been scrubbed clean and blue.

Ashe glanced back at Dave every now and then as the man worked. The cowboy had taken off his own shirt, and sweat glistened in the sunshine off of his tanned back. Though he wasn't in the mood for sex, it never hurt to enjoy the view.

He found a rock to sit on, and took a deep breath, realizing this was the first chance he'd had to truly relax since he'd found his father on the floor of their trailer the day before.

His mind went back to the scene. The intruder had been looking for something. He and his father were dirt-poor, so either the thieves had struck at random, or they had been searching for something that had no monetary value.

He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, exhaling and letting himself enjoy the peace and quiet. Soon enough, he'd be thrown back into the thick of it with his father and his medical prognosis. For just a moment, he let himself drift in the quiet peace of the desert, the sun warm on his back, no sounds but the breeze and the occasional whir of one of Dave's power tools.

"Found your problem."

Ashe opened his eyes. He'd been in deep. "What?" He glanced up—Dave was standing there, the sun creating a halo behind his head.

"I found your problem with the bike. Someone put something in your tank. Sugar, if I had to guess." He wiped his greasy hands off on an old rag. "I cleaned it out, and cleaned the filter too."

What the hell? First the trailer, now this. Ashe stood, dusting off the back of his jeans. "Guess someone was playing a prank on me," he lied, looking over at his bike.

"Helluva prank to play on a guy whose Daddy's in the hospital."

"Yeah." Ashe looked at the cowboy with new respect. "Thanks for fixing it. I owe you. I don't have a lot of money, but I can give you a little something."

Dave visibly cruised him. "I'd be happy to take it in trade," he said with a grin, pushing himself up against Ashe, his hand on Ashe's crotch.

Ashe turned away. "I'd like to. Really. But my father…"

Dave snorted. "No charge, then. We'll put it on your tab for the next time you're in town." He adjusted himself, shooting one last longing look at Ashe. "Let me get you some gas, at least. I've got a five gallon can inside for emergencies."

Ashe nodded. "I'd appreciate that. Otherwise I'd have to walk her back to town."

Dave flashed him a thumbs up and vanished inside the house.

There was a crash from inside the barn. Ashe glanced at the adobe home. Dave was still inside.

He should leave it well enough alone. Whatever was going on inside the barn was none of his business.

But his curiosity got the better of him. He slid the barn door open and looked around. It smelled foul, like a unicorn stall that hadn't been mucked out for ages.

There was something big in the far corner. He stepped inside, and his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. It was an iron cage, a fairly large one, at that. When he saw what was inside, he stepped back with a gasp.

The man had trapped a xiuhcoatl. A fucking dragon.

It was a baby, to be sure. It was coiled like a snake, maybe twenty feet from end to end, with a beautiful turquoise blue tail that whipped back and forth nervously. It slammed into the front of the cage again with another crash.

He stepped up to look at the magnificent beast. It looked neglected. Its scales were dull, and there was something drawn and tired about its eyes. He knew it was only an animal, but those eyes looked sad.

Chapter Five: MalFlight

Mal practically raced down the stairs and across the footpath until he reached his ride. He shrugged into his jacked and slammed his helmet down on his head as he straddled his bike. The rumble under him as the machine came to life always sent a jolt to his balls. He looked both ways and backed the bike out of his parking space. Making sure the coast was clear, Mal took off back to base.

The good thing about riding was the ability to weave in and out of traffic. It may be frowned upon by the cops, but fuck them. Melbourne city traffic at this time of day was for shit and he didn't have the time or patience. Dragons flew overhead with their cargo, heading to the various dragon ports located atop city buildings.

Mal had just cleared the edge of the city when he noticed a black SUV several cars back also weaving in and out of traffic. Mal's heart rate kicked up a notch and he put on a burst of speed, he didn't know if this car was following him but he didn't want to take any chances.

He turned down a side road that he knew connected back up to where he was going and continued to check his mirrors. When he saw the black SUV turn behind him Mal knew he was their target.

All he had to do was get back to the Hangar. Unauthorised personnel weren't allowed on site. Most Hangars around the world were locked down tighter than a military base. Mal sped down the street, only slowing slightly when he turned back onto a main road. The sounds of horns honking behind him and the screeching of tires let him know he'd come close to being hit.

He didn't have time to stop and apologise to the other drivers. Mal revved the engine and took off. He heard a crunching behind him and looked in his mirror briefly. The SUV had hit a car as it came through the intersection. They weren't stopping either, just backing up and taking off again, their front bumper mangled.

The light ahead of him flicked over to red and Mal swore. He quickly looked both ways before calculating his odds of making it. There were two cars already stopped at the light, Mal rode right up between them and he shot through the intersection, narrowly missing getting clipped.

"Fuck," he swore. More horns were blaring at him.

Mal was just thankful there were no cops around at the moment, the last thing he would be stopping for was blue and red flashing lights. The cops in this city could go fuck themselves for all he cared.

He checked his mirrors and sighed heavily when he saw the car following him stuck in traffic. Mal took off, he had to move his ass and get back to base. He took a few more back roads before he thought he was safe enough to get on the M1, which would take him back to Glen Waverly where the hangar was located.

Mal broke the speed limit the entire ride back, checking his mirrors constantly the entire time. He didn't like the feeling of being followed and not knowing why. He had a strong suspicion it had something to do with Anya, but he had no idea why. He really needed to talk to his team and see if they could help him dig through all this shit. Mal thought he spotted the SUV again just before he took his exit but couldn't be sure, it was a fair way back and there was more than one black SUV on the roads. He hated how paranoid he was feeling right now.

Five minutes later he was pulling up to the gates of the Hangar. The two men who came out of the security station both grinned at him. Mal came to a stop before the gate and pushed the visor up on his helmet so they could see it was him.

"Hey Mal, how's it going?" Jerry asked as he waved to someone back in the station to open the gates.

"Good man, I'm in a bit of a hurry, flying out in…" Mal paused and checked his watch. "Shit, five minutes."

Jerry laughed. "Cutting it a little close this time aren't ya?"

"Yeah, you know me." Mal paused a moment as the gate finished rising. "Hey listen, can you do me a favour?"

"Depends on what it is, but I can try."

Mal chuckled lightly, "Nothing bad I promise. If you see a black SUV with a busted front end get close to here in the next half hour could you take the plate for me?"

Jerry looked at him suspiciously. "Everything okay?"

"I don't know. Can't really talk now. Gotta run."

"Okay. I'll see what I can do," Jerry said as he and Toby, who had remained silent, stood guard, weapons ready, until Mal passed through the open gate.

"Thanks, man. I owe you one." Mal pushed down his visor and took off. He didn't bother heading to the parking structure, there was no way he had time to park his bike and get back to the field in time. Instead he turned left and headed around all the buildings and the massive dragon hangars until he reached the back field connected with the Himalayan Divers. He could already see the other members of his team out on the large grassed field with the dragons.

Someone had thankfully taken the time to saddle Nidhogg for Mal. He pulled his bike to a stop and jumped off. He removed his helmet and threw it to one of the apprentices along with his keys.

"Can you get that put away for me?" he called over his shoulder as he raced onto the field. He didn't hang around waiting for an answer.

"Talk about cutting it close," Darel called to him as he laughed. Darel was the only aboriginal on their team, his name meant blue sky, so he'd told Mal when they met. Said it was a sign he was meant for this job. Even though the man was a rainbow serpent shifter and snakes didn't fly, Darel refused to let that stop him. The man loved what they did. Mal had to agree.

"Yeah, but I'm here now, your ass is safe."

Darel flipped him the bird as Mal came to a halt in front of Nidhogg. He reached out to pet his dragon. Stopping for only seconds to let his friend know he was here and they were about to get to work. Mal ran his hand all the way down Nidhogg's neck until he reached the saddle. He climbed up and settled himself in the hand-tooled leather seat.

Hank called over to him from where he sat atop Nidhogg's father. "Everything okay?"

"I don't think so, but we can talk about it after." Mal had to get his head off what had just happened and onto what they were about to do. He checked the saddlebags behind him to make sure everything he needed had been packed. He hated that he wasn't here to do it himself so he knew, but that couldn't be helped.

"Okay. Let's do this," Hank called.

Mal quickly hooked up his radio headset so he could talk to the others in flight, then applied pressure with his feet. The power under him was unlike anything else Mal had ever felt as Nidhogg braced himself and then leaped into the air, his wings snapping out and catching the air as he pushed them higher and higher into the sky.

Chapter Five: TiboMom Kass

"We may have to cancel the rest of the tour." Tibo had no idea why Sean was whispering to his band mates. He was, what? Five feet away? But everyone was tiptoeing around him like he was deathly ill or something. "It's only three more cities. Won't kill us to cancel." Eck said in a more normal tone. "He's all in, Sean. He can't keep going like this." "Cancel them, Sean," Rolly said with finality. "He's headed for a breakdown if we don't. We've all been pushing too hard, but he's at his limit." "He's right here!" Tibo waved his arms from his spot on the couch. "I'm not dead and I'm not deaf!" Rolly fixed him with a stern look. "Sean, go start on cancellations. Dave, get on the phone to room service. Breakfast. Lots of it. Before Tibo faints from low blood sugar." "Hey!" "Eck, get your husbands up and see if they want to join us. Let's get everyone in one place." Tibo stood so he could poke Rolly in the chest. "Who put you in charge?" "Crisis situation, Ti. I'm staging a coup." Infuriatingly, Rolly patted his shoulder and planted a kiss on top of his head. "Sit down and rest." "Wait. No. There was something…" Tibo flailed and finally latched onto what it was. "Sean! I want a name and number for Shandi's family. Address, maybe. Something." Sean turned tired, harried eyes on him. "Ti, you can't get involved in this." "I'm not getting involved. I just want to make sure the family's okay. Please? For my peace of mind?" If he let his voice quaver, it wasn't all faking, though he did slump against Rolly as if standing up had become a chore. "I'll see what I can do. Give me a bit." Sean trundled out with his various marching orders, shaking his head. "Sit, you manipulative little tyrant." Rolly gave Tibo a not-entirely-gentle shove back to the couch. "We're going to have a nice quiet morning. Family breakfast, everyone relaxed. There will be no drama, no shouting and no deaths, even if it kills me." "And he calls me a tyrant," Tibo muttered, but he flopped back onto the couch and pulled a blanket up around him. Tired. Just gonna rest. When he woke up again, everyone had crowded around the coffee table that groaned under a massive breakfast and several carafes of coffee. Eck, who had won the marriage lottery with one adorable little kobold, Dieter, as husband number one, and a heartbreakingly beautiful nymph, Paulie, as husband number two, had commandeered the loveseat for the three of them. Dave sat on the floor, on the phone with his wife, Suzy, if the nauseating cooing was any indication, and Tibo had somehow ended up sprawled half in Rolly's lap. Some over-wound spring inside Tibo uncoiled as Sean came back in to join the feast. Family. He might've lost his first one years ago, but the one he'd built was the fortress that allowed him to keep going. "I have the contact info you wanted, Ti," Sean said between bites of cream-cheese stuffed French toast. "Good. I'm going to see her this afternoon."

* * * * *

The building where Shandilevinar Kass had lived was predictably shabby. Not the worst one on the block, but a tired, aging tenement that looked like it wanted to lie down for a last nap. Tibo checked the address one last time before he climbed the broken, crumbling stone stairs to the front door. There had been a lot of arguing, especially about him going alone. But Tibo was going to go see a single goblin mom in a goblin neighborhood. The band and Sean finally had to accept that everyone involved would be more comfortable this way. The elevator didn't work, so Tibo took dingy, poorly lit stairs to the fifth floor. The place reminded him uncomfortably of where his family had lived when he was small. At the correct apartment, he knocked softly and the door opened on the chain, while a bloodshot goblin eye peeked timidly out at him. "Mr. Glent?" "Yes, ma'am. Mom Kass?" She nodded and closed the door so she could remove the chain and usher him in. "You didn't have to." "I ken but I— It's right to do. I was last she logged with." So many years trying to rid himself of the shortened phrasing of goblin slang, and here he was, sliding right back into it like a comfy shoe. "I ken." She gazed up at him, surprising Tibo since so few people had to, and waved wearily to the ratty sofa. "Sit. Log with me a 'mo. Nice you came." He perched on the edge of the dilapidated piece of furniture, afraid if he sat back, he might break it, and accepted the fennel tea she offered. Such an old-school gob thing. Fennel tea. But it was a scent ingrained in his DNA and he would never have considered refusing it. "So sorry," he murmured as she sat in a plastic chair. She shrugged, the gesture hopeless and spare. "None of your fingers in it. No reason for sorry." He nodded, acknowledgement and solidarity. "Mom Kass, hap you ken why Shandi flitted last night? She squirrel on you?" The grieving mother shook her head, silver flashing in her shining black hair. "Hap I don't. Good girl, my Shandi. Honors. Teachers always say she's no fool. Didn't ken she was gone until the beaters banging on my door." Good gods. Middle of the night, police knocking, she must have been scared out of her mind. They couldn't call? "They tell you any?" "Speck or two." She sipped her tea, obviously struggling, her dark eyes wet with the tears she held back. "Mostly asked. Did Shandi do drugs? Trouble in school? Told them. Go look. Ask the school. Why skeeter me with things like that when my child is dead? You tell me." He told her, in halting sentences, about what he had witnessed and the little Shandi had said. "She kenned me. Her last words…" A smile tugged at Mom Kass's lips. "Of course she kenned you. Come peep." They both put their tea down and Tibo followed her down a narrow hallway to a room that would've been a linen closet in a larger house. Typical for a goblin child with a shelf bed and a den underneath with Shandi's computer. He recognized the model as one the schools gave to gifted poor kids. A concert poster, Tibo in his black leathers, head flung back as he sang, was taped up on the ceiling. "Oh. Clears that then." A flush of embarrassment surprised him followed by a wave of sorrow. Shandi had been whip smart, but still a typical kid, collecting little treasures in her room, following her favorite bands. "The beaters? They check her files?" Again the little shrug. "No. Never asked." "Mom Kass, I know it's abnormally. But I'm asking. Could I cart it with me? Peep through some things?" She patted his arm, her voice heavy with sorrow. "You cart it, Tibo. Better you than the beaters."

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About Marionettes in the Mist

This is a weekly Urban Fantasy serial written by participating MCB authors: Angel Martinez, Toni Griffin, J. Scott Coatsworth, and Freddy MacKay. It posts every Monday and Thursday. A total of thirty-six chapters will be written for the blog. Marionettes in the Mist will be released in three volumes that will include illustrations, story expansions, and of course, edits later on in the year.

BlurbA fugitive skinwalker, a down-on-his-luck phoenix, a goblin rock star, and a wild dragon ranger have nothing in common except the sudden violence that tears their separate worlds apart. With wildly different motivations, each sets off on his own journey to try to solve the puzzles left in the wake of murder and mayhem.

When these four meet, the hints and clues begin to point them to something bigger, and toward answers that might make them wish they'd all stayed home.